Don't cry, Mr England
by Post-Apocalypse Dreamer
Summary: Visiting England during the summer, one night little Lyonesse is woken and has to do something she's never done before: comfort someone. /one-shot/


**Disclaimer: I do not own Hetalia, it belongs to Himaruya Hidekaz. I own Ava and Lyonesse.**

* * *

_Don't Cry, Mr. England_

The night air was crisp, billowing through the gauzy curtains of the quaint, childlike room dotted with toys left on the floor after play. A waning gibbous moon hung low in the sky as its comforting light to nightly travelers shone through the white gauze, landing on a curled up lump under covers of a soft violet which rose and fell evenly, a sleeping body underneath. Nothing stirred save the very faint sound of crying in the home as a figure stepped from the shadows.

It was a woman, dressed in a long, Arthurian dress of white with a velvet cloak of cornflower blue over it, the hood drawn back. Her hair was a long mess of dark chocolate to her center back, wavy with lighter sun-tanned streaks here or there, eyes a lighter shade of brown bordering almost amber. She gave an air of gentleness and motherly care, a hidden fierce will of protection underneath her kind face held drawn in a sad, tiny smile.

Walking to the bed, bare feet colored a soft brown from dirt as they peeked from under the gown, her slim hand ran down the side of the bed around the outlined body, whispering softly, "Young one, wake for me."

A soft mumble came from the sheets, distinctly young and American, as well as slurred. "Papa, go'way..." The body shifted, rolling over tiredly. "I's Sat'day... M' off 'til... noon..."

A gentle chuckle fell from the woman's lips, causing the child to turn over and sit up, eyes widening as they connected with matching amber. The child, a girl of possibly six, backed up towards the post of her bed, shiver of fear visibly running through her body. The woman did not show signs of being harmful, but with a sudden appearance, it would be stupid to not think she was threatening to health or life.

"Dost not worry thyself," She spoke calmly, sitting near the foot in a graceful manner, clothing making barely a hint of sound. When the woman smiled gently to the girl, her fear faded into nothing. "I hath come to beseech ye. Thine father hast feel no good."

The young girl blinked. "M-my father? But Papa..."

"Nay," the lady shook her head. "I speak naught of America, I speak of England."

"Ho-how do you know I ca-call England Daddy secretly?" The child stuttered out, face void of color.

"The same of I knowest thou go upon the name Lyonesse."

Lyonesse gapped openly at the woman. She knew nothing of the woman, but the woman seemed to know all about her! It was an uncomfortable thought, to think many people knew her better than herself.

"Who are you, then, since you now me?" Demanded Lyonesse, not caring she sounded rude or haughty.

The woman smiled, "Ye should know of me. I go by Ava, I dost." A gentle giggle escaped her lips and she pushed bits of her dark locks from her eyes. The sleeve of her dress slid down to reveal an amethyst and carnelian bracelet, glowing faintly in the light.

Lyonesse's eyes locked on it, feeling a sense of familiarity, as if she'd seen the bracelet before, then focused solely on the woman. "I don't know anyone with the name Ava." She replied curtly. "You must be mistaken."

"Not all hath names such as Lyonesse, young one," replied the woman in the same tone. "'Tis rare, in truth, in such an era as this."

The girl frowned, looking at her feet. "Why do you need me anyhow? Wa's wrong with my Daddy?"

A gentle, slender finger touched the edge of her small chin, tilting it up to meet Ava's face which held a serene smile, concern in the amber depths. "'Tis ill, England is. Tears is what he sheds."

"How can I help him?" She mumbled in despair. "I dun know how to make people stop cryin'..."

Ava reached out a hand toward the girl and Lyonesse took it, letting Ava lead her to the woman and sit in her lap. Looking up into matching amber eyes, she was given information she didn't think was true.

"Worry not, young lioness, ye have comforted England before, 'tis same as then."

Ava brushed some of the six-year-old unruly, dark brunette hair from her forehead, giving a kiss to the child's temple. A shiver of something powerful and magnificent ran through the little girl's body and her hands rubbed her arms to rid herself of the odd feel. Ava ran her slender fingers through Lyonesse's short hair, untangling a few nots and turning the hair from a rat's nest to simply stringy and lifeless.

"Lyonesse, thou hath the means, use them," Ava ruffled the girl's hair then, destroying her work. "Please, fere."

Lyonesse looked down at her hands, noticing they had an odd, silvery green glow about them, and looked up into the worried woman's eyes. She gave the woman a smile, one reveling a missing front tooth, and she nodded.

"Okay, Ms. Ava!"

Ava's look of worry gave way to one of relief. She kissed the child's temple again before scooting the still sleepy child from her lap. Standing, she took hold of the brunette girl's glowing hands, kissing the fingers.

"Tell naught of I to England." Requested she of the tired child. "Lie if thee must, do tell naught of I."

The two kept eye contact momentarily as this requested was made before the little brunette nodded in understanding. Then the elder brunette helped the younger off the bed, showing her toward the door silently.

Walking to the door, she turned to say goodbye to Ava, but Ava was gone, the windows merely sweeping white curtains into her room, obscuring the cool, clear night from sight beyond the open windows. Blinking, Lyonesse stood for several seconds, thinking of where the woman had gone and decoding she left through the window.

Leaving the room, the child padded down the hall in her sock clad feet, stepping down the steps quietly, hand keeping hold of the banister to keep from falling down the steps. The crying seemed to grow louder and the more it grew, the sadder Lyonesse herself felt until she had come to the kitchen doorway.

There, she found England, one of her two father figures, sitting right under the light of a window, crying. The moon cast a glow over him and Lyonesse walked over to him, getting down on her knees to crawl to him, looking up into his watery green eyes.

England wiped away furiously at his tears though they continued to fall, asking, "Lyonesse, what are you doing up? You should be in bed." When she did nothing but watch him, his shoulders slumped, elbows resting on his knees. "Poppet, go back to bed." The child simply reached forward, taking the blonde's face in her tiny hands and leaning forward to kiss both of his tearstained cheeks in comfort.

"I's okay, Mr. England," Lyonesse told the old island nation. "You don't have to cry anymore."

He laughed, trying to hide the spitefulness in his tone but unable to. "Poppet, Lyonesse, there are _many_ reasons for me to cry. Being okay will not change that."

Worried amber looked into hurt green and she frowned deeply at the man. Shaking her head, she pulled away from him and looked down at her still glowing hands. _Daddy shouldn't cry..._ She thought sourly, wondering what would make him happy.

She remembered how fairies had wings much like butterflies, and imagined beautiful green butterflies to fly around England and cheer him up. Looking back at England, she found he was staring at the floor again, sniffing softy, not trying to hide how upset he was in front of the child which was not something knew to Lyonesse.

"Don't cry." She repeated. Lyonesse opened her hands to watch shining sliver-green butterflies fly from the glow of her hands before the glow died out.

They began to flutter about, circling around the brunette's head before flying to the blonde and kissing his skin, alighting and flying away to another part of his body. England looked up, dumbfounded as these magic-made creatures tried to cure him of an illness you cannot fix. An illness known as sadness. What more confused him was Lyonesse had made them, and she watched in abstract curiosity beyond a six-year-old's thought process as they worked their own magic, pulling the man from his deep pity and back to reality.

Lifting a hand, a butterfly landed on it, acting as how a normal butterfly would save its fickle nature once he moved, using his other hand to slowly run a finger down the creature's luminescent wings. Startled at how it's light absorbed into him, sending a shock of... of _happiness_ through him, he looked to find Lyonesse already nodding off from where she sat a foot away before him, too tired to truly care anymore for her surroundings.

The other butterflies followed him as he picked up the sleeping girl, holding her to him as a mother would a baby, patting her back gently, soothingly. Walking to the stairs, some lit the way for him in the dark house and others flew behind, several resting on his head or shoulders.

When he had laid Lyonesse down in bed, he turned to leave, not expecting a small hand to grab hold of the sleeve if his uniform. Turning, he found sleepy amber eyes looking at him with hope and fright.

"Stay with me?" She questioned quietly. "I'm scared."

Opening his mouth to tell her no, he recalled the memory of himself when he was a young country, and comforting arms around him, lulling him to sleep when his own brother's cared less for him. The scent of fresh apples and clean magic faintly flooded his senses and he instead smiled at her.

"Okay, sweetheart." A halfhearted scowl marred the child's face as England knelt beside the bed. "Will a story help?"

"Mhmm." Was the drowsy response.

"Then I'll tell you about my favorite king, King Arthur," England promised, "and the beautiful island Avalon."


End file.
